The Dragon of Cecil Court (The Treasure of Paragon Book 5) Read online

  The growl that rumbled up Nathaniel’s throat had the driver’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

  “Watch yourself. There will be no healing. There is nothing left to heal. Clarissa is a devil, and there is only room for one in this hell of mine. I plan to deal with this thing that plagues her as soon as possible and send her on her way. The faster, the better.”

  Emory nodded. “Of course. You’re right, sir. Glad to know your head is on straight.”

  Emory came to a stop in front of Mistwood and popped out to open the door for him.

  Nathaniel grabbed his attaché case and strode toward the manor. “Take the rest of the day off. I won’t be leaving again until tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The man climbed behind the wheel and made haste back down the drive.

  “She’s been in her old chambers since noon,” Tempest said, appearing in the suddenly open door, arms crossed and looking as rumpled as an oread could look. “If you like, I could forget to remove my gloves after mucking Diablo’s stall and feel my way around her room.”

  Nathaniel groaned. “If I thought a bit of manure would solve this problem, I’d take you up on that offer. Unfortunately, Warwick has advised me that until I fix what ails Clarissa, she is our permanent guest. Let’s try to make the best of it.”

  With a bow of his head, Tempest disappeared, sending a disgruntled puff of wind in his direction. Well, he couldn’t agree more with the sentiment. He took a long, fortifying drag on his pipe. The smoke blew from his lips a cautionary orange. He tamped out the tobacco and plugged the bowl with a wind cap before sliding it into his pocket.

  “You’re a dragon, Nathaniel. Be a dragon,” he whispered to himself. He took the stairs three at a time. If she thought she could simply come back here and he’d treat her like nothing had changed between them, she was sadly mistaken. This visit would be on his terms and, with any luck, mercifully short.

  He barged into her room without knocking.

  She rose from the chair where she’d been reading in one quick movement. “You might knock before entering someone’s room, Nathaniel. What if I’d been dressing?”

  His dragon twisted hot and rough in his chest, and his tongue burned with the need to lash out. “May I remind you, Clarissa, that this is not your room. It’s mine, as is the rest of this house and the grounds. I’ve agreed to give you sanctuary, not privacy. As for your potential nakedness, I doubt there’s anything I haven’t seen before, unless you’ve added a secret tattoo since our last joining? No? As such, your state of dress is of no concern to me.”

  “You can be such a fucking brute.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

  “As you know, and still you came to me for help.” He sneered in her direction.

  “If I had any other choice, believe me, I’d take it.” She folded her arms over her filmy floral dress in a way that threatened to drive him to distraction. Her skin would feel soft if he touched her, like the petal of a rose.

  He stared down his nose at her. “Since you’ve made your choice, Ms. Black, let’s not prolong your purpose. Tell me exactly how this happened, everything you remember.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tanaka Auditorium

  Before

  Tanaka Auditorium was standing room only, which was saying something considering the size of the theater. As private events went, it was huge. Tom had relayed that the tech giant had hired Clarissa as a perk for the employees who’d worked to develop some sort of new gadget that would give the iPhone a run for its money. They’d certainly gone all out.

  At the moment, Blue Radio was opening for her. She waited backstage, using her last moments before the show to center herself. Out of nowhere, a sophisticated-looking woman in a light gray business suit appeared beside her. Before Clarissa could say a word, the stranger reached out and plucked a hair from her head.

  “Wow! What the fuck?” Clarissa snapped. The redheaded woman started to walk away, but Clarissa grabbed her arm. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Hair and makeup,” the woman said, her voice gritty and low like she might have a cold. “Cleaning up a stray.”

  “Next time ask permission before you touch me.” She released the woman’s elbow and searched for Tom. He was going to get an earful over this. It wasn’t about the hair. Everyone knew she counted on these last moments of meditation to do her best work. Time alone to center herself was part of her creative process. Allowing a stranger backstage this close to the performance completely threw her off.

  When she couldn’t find Tom, she turned back to explain the rules to the woman herself, only she’d disappeared. Probably knew she was in trouble. She’d talk to Tom about it after the show. Whatever company she worked for, they needed to know they couldn’t bring in new blood at zero hour.

  For the rest of the opening act, she pushed the incident from her mind, instead choosing to focus on the show ahead of her. By the time Blue Radio left the stage and Tom appeared again, she’d forgotten all about it. She watched him exchange hand signals with the soundman while tech readied the stage. The lights dimmed. At once, the roar of the crowd became deafening.

  White and red pyrotechnics blazed to life with the opening beats and her dancers flooded the stage. Their black leotards were designed to give the impression of scales, and they weaved like snakes, belly dancing their way into the hearts of the audience. Her people were the best in the business. Some looked positively boneless.

  Her latest album, The Serpent’s Strike, was all about being bitten by love, how the poison got into your blood and changed you forever. How fitting that she should be performing in London. The only man she’d ever thought she could love lived here, and she’d never succeeded in curing herself from his romantic venom.

  When the stage manager waved a finger, she strode onto the stage in a black snakeskin bustier, a skirt that desperately wanted to be a belt, and a train that weighed hundreds of pounds and had to be carried and positioned by a second set of dancers.

  Bring the night! She sang and the crowd went wild. She broke into her dance, singing the series of notes that led into the first verse. Her voice ignited the air around her, syncing the dancers with her body and making the room twinkle with living energy.

  Clarissa was a witch and her voice was her wand. Tonight, as she did every night, she would take her audience on a magical journey they would never forget.

  Your night, it crawls to meet

  the darkness inside me.

  Don’t you know that your energy

  is the thing making me me?

  The train she was wearing detached and rose behind her as if carried by a breeze. As she sang, it folded itself into an origami beast, a dark sparkling dragon with huge wings that flapped above her and the dancers. The crowd went crazy. Lights flashed as they tried to capture a picture that would do it justice. When she sang again, they sang along with her.

  I was once a dying thing.

  You helped me to find my wings.

  Now I fly among the stars.

  Free from you, free from us.

  Free to rule the skies above.

  Bring the night.

  I will be its queen.

  Bring the night.

  I will rule the wind.

  Bring the night.

  I welcome it. I’m ready. I’m ready.

  Something was wrong. During this part of the performance, the origami dragon was supposed to fly over her head, circle the crowd, and then she would pretend to slay it with her dance moves. It wasn’t happening. She kept moving, performing the dance steps as always, but her magic drained from the room like the rush of water from an unplugged bathtub. Her throat caught, constricted. It felt like she’d swallowed a bee.

  In abject horror, she cast a frantic, desperate look toward Tom backstage and patted her throat. All he could do was spread his hands and yell into his headset.

  Fabric rustled above her. She tipped her head back just in time to watch hu
ndreds of pounds of black twinkling cloth give up its dragon form and drop, flattening her to the stage.

  Chapter Eight

  The story was not what Nathaniel had expected. If someone had been able to use a hair plucked from Clarissa’s head to sabotage her performance so quickly, the perpetrator must be a truly powerful magical being. The attack was targeted and malicious. Someone wanted not only to hurt her but to embarrass her too.

  “They took me to the hospital after the show. I was physically fine, but my magic was gone.”

  “I see. You said you didn’t recognize the redheaded woman?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is there anyone who would want to hurt you?”

  “No one has threatened me explicitly. If this is personal, I don’t know why.”

  He scoffed. “Of course not. It couldn’t possibly be personal. What have you ever done that was your fault?”

  Her eyes narrowed at his sarcastic tone. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I’m sorry about what happened between us.”

  “Don’t waste your breath on false words. I’ll get to work this afternoon on a spell to reveal the source of this curse.”

  “And until then, I should wait here for you to burst into the room at your next whim?”

  He scowled at her. “Yes. This is my home after all, despite your using the Order of the Dragon against me. Besides, you did offer me… anything… to help you.”

  “I see. So is that what this is all about? My offer?”

  She stood and strode toward him, stepping out of her stilettos on the way. She stopped less than six inches in front of him, close enough she knew he could catch her scent. His lips pulled back from his teeth as the natural lily fragrance of her skin filled his nose and his inner dragon woke from its slumber.

  He wanted her. He’d always wanted her. And she was using it against him.

  In a few quick moves, she pulled her dress over her head. Underneath, the lacy pale pink bra and panty set she wore teased him mercilessly. His gaze flicked down to the edge of the lace where it cut across her breasts, her nipples hidden under a panel of silk. Immediately his body responded and his instant erection twitched with need. She noticed. She always noticed.

  Her fists landed on her hips. “Well? I offered you everything. Are you going to take it? I won’t say no. I’m too desperate.”

  His mouth was as dry as a stone. It would serve her right if he called her bluff. He could have her on that bed before she could blink, body spread out under him like his own personal buffet. But that’s what she wanted. Sex with her would give her control. It would awaken all the feelings he’d fought so hard to repress over the years, the offered bond that she’d rejected. Oh no, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  He ground his teeth and stared down his nose at her. Two could play at this game, and her buttons were just as easy to push. “What makes you think I’d give you pleasure in exchange for my magic? Hardly seems like a fair trade.” He moved in closer, his voice all grit as his dragon raised the temperature in the room and his stare burned into hers. “No, if I take from you it will be for my pleasure and mine alone. Be careful, Clarissa—you don’t want to give me any ideas.”

  He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. “Meet me in the ritual room in an hour. I recommend skipping lunch. The tests I will run on you to discover your malady tend to empty the stomach.”

  One last glance out of the corner of his eye showed her to be visibly shaken. Despite her lifted chin and steel spine, he did not miss the goose bumps along her skin. Smug satisfaction filled him as he strode from the room and down the hall to his chambers.

  He didn’t take a full breath until he was safely behind its locked door.

  Chapter Nine

  Only when Nathaniel was out of earshot did Clarissa release her held breath and allow herself to shuffle backward and plop down hard on the bed. She leaned forward, her head between her knees, swearing repeatedly under her breath. She’d wanted to call his bluff, to gain an inch of power in this situation by appealing to his desire for her.

  She’d failed miserably. He’d rejected her outright, which meant that despite the heart-shaped smoke she’d seen at the bookstore and his physical response, he was well and truly over her. His negative emotions toward her must trump any physical attraction. Which meant any hope of reigniting the feelings he’d once had for her in order to make this experience easier was dead.

  Probably for the best, considering she hadn’t counted on his presence reigniting feelings in her instead.

  When he’d walked into her room, for a second she was back in the quiet moments of their affair. Nathaniel stalking toward her was something out of a dream or a nightmare. Her body had betrayed her at the sight of his muscles rolling beneath his tailored suit, his sheer size radiating dominance across the room. Her stomach had fluttered. Heat had blossomed between her thighs. Her bra had felt suffocatingly tight.

  Truly, some part of her had wanted him to take her when she’d removed her dress. Oh, she’d meant for it to come off as brave, a cynical jab at him for barging in on her without knocking, but feeling his heat against her skin, the smoky scent of his special blend of tobacco mixed with the underlying spice of dragon in her nose, she’d wanted him to give in to the fire that clearly still burned between them. She’d been stupid. She should have known he’d never have sex with her under such dubious circumstances. Nathaniel was many things, but he would never coerce a woman into his bed.

  Too bad she’d lost this round. Her skin still burned from the memory of him. Her heart was a scorched wasteland from his rejection.

  Fuck.

  She set a timer on her phone. One hour. Sixty short minutes until she found out exactly what sort of punishment he had in store for her.

  A thought niggled at the back of her brain and she pushed it aside. There was more to this than physical rejection, but she refused to examine those feelings. Hell no. She pushed herself up and stumbled to her bag, pulling on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Whatever Nate had in mind for this afternoon, she suspected his warning about her stomach was accurate. She washed the makeup off her face in the adjoining bathroom and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  Her black roots formed a stark halo around her face, blending into the platinum highlights toward a completely blond tail. The only ones who should see her like this were Ben & Jerry—and not the real people, but the picture on the side of the pint of Cherry Garcia she wished she was curled around right now.

  All too soon, the timer on her phone went off. She swallowed. Slipping on a pair of sport socks, she padded toward the ritual room on shaking legs. This was going to hurt in more ways than one. By the time she got to the secret door behind the kitchen, she was trembling everywhere and relieved he’d propped it open. She wasn’t sure she could remember the procedure to trigger the lock in her current state.

  He was there, waiting inside, seated at a table laden with jars and glassware, under a ceiling covered with dried, hanging herbs. With a wave of his hand, the door to the kitchen slammed closed and sealed behind her. The sound made her jump. She drew in a deep, fortifying breath and tried to relax.

  Nothing about this room was calming. The walls were lined with shelves holding every manner of magical ingredient. Dried lizards and preserved eels. Animal skulls. Candles. Blood. The heady scent of magic filled the air, thick and vegetative, with the edge of smoke that always followed Nathaniel. This was the devil’s workshop, and she had volunteered her soul to suffer his torment.

  Bright amethyst eyes locked on her, their former gray color now purple with his use of power. He stirred a small cauldron on the bench in front of him and never missed a stroke as he commanded, “Please stand within the symbol.”

  Her gaze drifted to the floor. A triangle was sketched in chalk there with ancient-looking symbols drawn at its apexes.

  “Nathaniel, what is this symbol?”

  “Ancient arcane magic.”

  “What does it do?”
>
  “You’re wasting time, Clarissa.”

  With one last tentative glance in his direction, she slowly and carefully stepped into the triangle. Power scraped against her skin. Experimentally, she reached her hand toward the chalk line, and her fingers bumped an invisible force. As she’d feared, once inside the boundaries, she could not exit the symbol.

  “In order to solve your problem,” Nathaniel said from his place at the workbench, “I need to know what caused it. I’ve prepared a series of potions. If one binds to a specific curse within your body, I’ll know what type of magic was used to hinder your voice. The symbol will then reveal the curse’s location inside you. Once we know both the magical origin and the placement, we can set about neutralizing it or removing it.”

  A chill traveled through her at the thought of Nathaniel removing her body parts to get at the curse. She closed her eyes to stop that train of thought. “All right. So I just stand here and drink what you give me?”

  It occurred to her how vulnerable she was. He could do anything to her in this room and no one would know. Not even Tom. No one would ever find her. No one would hear her scream. She trusted that Nathaniel wouldn’t hurt her on purpose—he couldn’t, thanks to the boundaries of the blood bond and the magical contract of sanctuary—but accidents happened when it came to magic.

  “Who do you know with motivation to curse your voice?” Nathaniel asked.

  “The only one I can think of is Eva Hart. My latest single has been leaving hers in the dust on the charts all month.”

  “If memory serves, Eva is a witch, yes?”

  She nodded once. Glass clinked against glass as he retrieved a vessel of questionable cleanliness from his collection and poured a finger’s height of green liquid into the bottom. “This won’t narrow it down to Eva, but it will tell us if it was a witch who cursed you.”

  He handed it to her inside the symbol. Apparently he could reach in even though she couldn’t reach out. Great. “Ugh. It smells like…”